


just a little bit

by middlecyclone



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13199277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlecyclone/pseuds/middlecyclone
Summary: They’re in their hotel room in London, and of course they have to share it because the BuzzfeedBlue budget can fly them across the Atlantic and yet for some reason it can’t get them separate hotel rooms, and honestly Shane hadn’t minded that even a little bit until Ryan started making little whining noises and staring at Shane’s toes.Shane likes spending time with Ryan, he really does. But he draws the line here. Because this? It’s not okay.





	just a little bit

**Author's Note:**

> Is it possible to kinkshame yourself for a kink you don't even have?

Shane doesn’t realize anything is going on at all, until he takes one of his socks off and Ryan _literally_ moans.

“Dude,” Shane says, “what the fuck,” and that doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Ryan just blushes.

They’re in their hotel room in London, and of course they have to share it because the BuzzfeedBlue budget can fly them across the Atlantic and yet for some reason it can’t get them separate hotel rooms, and honestly Shane hadn’t minded that even a little bit until Ryan started making little whining noises and staring at Shane’s toes.

Shane likes spending time with Ryan, he really does. But he draws the line here. Because this? It’s not okay.

“Ryan,” Shane says, slowly, tentatively, “what was that?”

Ryan takes a deep breath, and steels himself, and–

“So, fine, I have a foot fetish,” he blurts out, all in one big quick rush, and–

Shane? Did not see that coming.

“Nope,” he says, standing up, one foot bare and one still in its sneaker, “nope, I did not sign up for this shit.”

Ryan winces. “It’s–Shane, wait–”

“I’m not sleeping here,” Shane shrieks, and he doesn’t bother taking the energy to care about the decidedly non-masculine timbre his voice has achieved, “I’m not doing this. I’m going next door to share with TJ.”

“I’m not gonna like, ’lick your toes’ in your sleep,” Ryan says sarcastically, fingers sketching air quotes where they definitively do not belong, and–

“I don’t _care_ ,” Shane says, “and also I implied _no such thing_ about you, so the fact that you just did is truly disconcerting–”

“Stop,” Ryan says, voice calm and yet also firm and domineering, somehow, and against all his better judgement Shane does. “Let me explain,” Ryan says, and Shane waits patiently for him to keep talking.

“Technically,” Ryan continues, “it’s less of a foot fetish, and more of a shoe fetish–” and that’s when Shane grabs his phone and runs out into the hallway.

He comes back about five minutes later, head hanging sheepishly as he knocks on the door, because he grabbed his phone but he didn’t think to grab his keycard. TJ had taken one look at his mussed hair and his crazy eyes and slammed the door in his face.

“I have to work a camera for you maniacs,” he had shouted through the laminate hotel door, “I don’t have the energy to deal with your nonsense in my off-time too,” and honestly? For as much as Shane hates TJ in this moment, he can’t exactly blame him. Shane doesn’t want to deal with his own histrionics either, but unfortunately living inside his own body doesn’t leave him with much of a choice.

“Say nothing,” he says gloomily as Ryan opens the door, and then Shane's pushing past him to fling himself dramatically across his hotel bed. “Leave me in peace.”

Ryan just rolls his eyes. “I was _going_ to,” he says, folding his arms across his chest, “until you overreacted.”

“You started telling me about your foot fetish,” Shane says flatly. “It was hardly an overreaction.”

“You _asked_ ,” Ryan squawks, and Shane really considers leaving the room again, except he knows that there’s literally nowhere else in this entire country he can go, so he just grabs a pillow and presses it over his face. Best case scenario he’ll block out everything Ryan says completely and his co-host will leave him alone, and worst case scenario? If he asphyxiates to death, he figures, at least this will all end and leave him in peaceful, footless bliss.

“It’s not about your feet themselves,” Ryan tells him, and Shane feels the bed shift as Ryan sits down next to him. “It’s the like, mystery of them inside your shoes.”

“I’m going to vomit.”

“I just–I like sneakers! It’s about the shoes!”

“This is the worst thing you’ve ever done to me,” Shane says conversationally. “Like, this is infinitely worse than the spirit box. Can we go to a haunted asylum or something where I can pretend a ghost is grabbing my ass? Because I would rather do that than listen to you _talk_ about my _feet_.”

“For the last time,” Ryan says, “it’s not about your feet,” and then Ryan is forcefully grabbing the pillow on top of Shane’s face and ripping it aside and suddenly, _hello,_ Ryan’s face is mere inches away from Shane’s face.

“Oh?” Shane says weakly.

“Nope,” Ryan says, and then he’s–

Picking up–

One of Shane’s battered hi-tops–

“Don’t,” Shane says weakly, but–

Ryan is–

 _Smelling_ his _–_

“Stop screaming,” Ryan says sternly, because apparently Shane is screaming, and then he sniffs Shane’s sneaker again.

“I want you to know that I have never in my life washed those,” Shane says, “and we live in L.A. It’s so fucking hot and those are _made_ of _leather_ and I only sometimes wear socks.”

“I can tell,” Ryan says, grimacing, and Shane feels no sympathy, because no human being has ever brought anything upon themselves quite as intensely as Ryan just did. “You should _really_ start wearing socks with these.”

He’s right, but Shane isn’t about to cede the moral high ground in a situation where his coworker has his nose in Shane’s sneakers in order to get off, so he lets the statement slide without comment.

He means to say something snidely and precisely cutting, but instead what happens is this:

Ryan drops Shane’s shoe onto the floor.

Ryan puts one hand on the side of Shane’s face, and the other hand on Shane’s shoulder, and presses him firmly into the mattress.

Ryan slings one leg over Shane’s hips and then straddles him, and Shane feels inexplicably grounded by the weight of Ryan’s body hovering above him.

Ryan opens his mouth, probably to say something else disgusting about Shane’s feet, and Shane honestly just doesn’t want to hear any of it.

So in order to shut Ryan up, he makes the highly questionable snap decision to lever himself up on his elbows and lean in to kiss him on the mouth.

Ryan is hesitant at first, but Shane just keeps his mouth open and his tongue licking against the surface of Ryan’s front teeth, which is honestly a little bit gross but kissing is always a little bit gross and before long, Ryan is desperately kissing him back and Shane is six feet four inches tall but he feels tiny as Ryan shoves him  up the mattress and it’s–

Well.

Maybe he likes this. A lot.

Whatever.

Ryan is taking his hand and putting it inside Shane’s pants, and maybe a quarter of Shane’s brain is thinking about how Ryan probably wishes he was grabbing Shane’s toes instead of his dick, but the remaining 75% is mostly just thinking about how Ryan is actually truly literally grabbing his dick, and he really just can’t be bothered to care.

“How did this even happen,” Shane pants, “this really doesn’t seem like–it logically follows–from your foot thing–”

“For the last time,” Ryan says, breathing hotly into Shane’s mouth, “it is _not_ a foot thing,” and then he deftly twists his wrist and–

Well–

Shane’s not going to argue with that kind of argument.

“I just like sneakers,” Ryan is repeating, protesting, but Shane barely absorbs the words, he’s so overwhelmed. “Like–the luxury of the leather, and the–the shape of the laces, the bindings, it’s like–”

“Please,” Shane says desperately, grinding up into Ryan’s hand, “I like you so much, and every single word you say about shoelace bindings makes that a little bit harder to accept.”

“Wait,” Ryan asks, “you like me?” But Shane is too busy sucking a mark into Ryan’s collarbone to answer.

That’s just how it goes, sometimes.

“If I asked,” Ryan says, right as Shane is on the edge, “would you put high heels on for me?”

“No,” Shane gasps out, “definitely not,” and then he comes, so it’s not the most convincing he’s ever been.

“If I asked,” Ryan says, “would you come on my Air Jordan’s,” and Shane seriously doesn’t know why he still associates with this guy, he really doesn’t.

“Still a no,” Shane says, and then Ryan is coming too, so Shane suspects that maybe his vehement demurral was not exactly _heard_ , per se.

“Wow,” Ryan says after a long moment, and rolls off Shane, who’s left to just feel absolutely disgusting in his jeans.

“I’m going to shower,” Shane says. “You’re welcome to join me,” he adds suggestively.

“What’s with the socks?” Ryan asks, staring down at where Shane is pulling his cotton athletic socks back on even as he shucks off his admittedly disgusting jeans.

Shane just glares at him. “You _know_ what’s up with the socks,” he says darkly, and that’s when Ryan starts to laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> RYAN IS A SNEAKERHEAD THIS ISN'T TOTALLY OUT OF NOWHERE. BUT YEAH THIS IS STILL MY BAD.


End file.
